


More Than Marigolds

by AnastenLights



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, Hospitals, M/M, there's fluff here too i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-28 13:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17788544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnastenLights/pseuds/AnastenLights
Summary: Sometimes love doesn't go both ways. After all, you don't get hanahaki if your love is returned....right?





	More Than Marigolds

**Author's Note:**

> It's about time I write a fic for one of my favorite tropes to read from!  
> For those who aren't familiar with hanahaki- it's a fictional disease caused by unrequited love, and manifests itself by flowers growing from inside the afflicted person. (For this fic I added in thorns growing as well, though that is more my own addition rather than a universal constant for hanahaki)

He’d known Grif since they’d been together in training, but it wasn’t until they had both been assigned to Blood Gulch that Simmons realized what it was. It wasn’t at all like that strong, rapturing pull on his heart like he’d heard described so often by his friends and the media.

Instead it was a quiet, comfortable feeling. Almost like his heart received a hug every time he saw him. The feeling grew in his heart and soon Simmons came to realize despite the long list of things about Dexter Grif that irritated him, and as much as he tried to deny it, Dick Simmons had no idea what he’d do without him.

But Grif didn’t feel the same.

The sharp, aching pains in Simmons’ chest told him that much. The pain- and the flowers. You didn’t get hanahaki if your love loved you back. _Right_?

_‘What’s a few flowers anyway?’_ It wasn’t like he could help the pain as the vines inside him grew every time he got those butterflies in his stomach.

The first time Simmons noticed anything irregular was shortly after he and Grif had been transferred to Blood Gulch together. He’d tried to ignore the pain at first, telling himself it was just regular cramps or a cold or something else not out of the ordinary.

But then the flowers came.

The first time was while he was walking through Red Team’s base- he’d been on his way to grab a bite to eat when Grif stopped him for a moment. “You wouldn’t by any chance have a key to the garage would you?”

“No, why would I-”

Grif grinned, already starting to walk off in the opposite direction. “Oh, no reason. I just may or may not be trying to avoid Sarge for the next few hours. Or the rest of the week, depending on when he finds out I haven’t actually been doing any of the things he’s asked me to do.”

“There’s- there’s a reason we’re supposed to do those things Grif!” Simmons said, flustered at his teammate’s obvious indifference. “What if the Blues attack? We have to be ready for anything!”

“You mean ready for when anyone but you and Sarge start to actually care?” Grif laughed. “If those assholes actually gave a damn they’d have tried to attack us at least once in the three weeks we’ve been here.”

“Yeah, I suppose you have a point. They haven’t even done anything but stay at their base and watch us.”

“Which is the perfect scenario, and if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go take a nap for a few hours.”

“It’s TEN-THIRTY!” Simmons shouted to Grif’s retreating form as the orange soldier walked away. “And you woke up a half hour ago so- _oh fuck you too Grif._ ”

He could see Grif give him the finger as he vanished around the corner.

What was it with that guy anyway? Alway so- so… Simmons couldn’t really put words to how he felt about Grif. He was lazy, sloppy, didn’t give a damn about anything, and yet, Simmons still found himself enjoying Grif’s company a lot more than he sometimes felt he should. They had similar interests in movies and back in training they’d often sneak into each other’s rooms and stay up long into the night talking about various sci-fi movies together.

If anyone asked there was no doubt Simmons would deny it, but in reality he found he liked Grif, despite all the obvious flaws and the fact there was so much about him that drove Simmons crazy.

He caught himself smiling at Grif’s rude gesture as he resumed walking to his room, but soon after he found himself stopped again, chest pounding in agonizing pain. He felt like his lungs were going to burst as he coughed and gasped for air, the pain increased almost to more than he could bear. Simmons ran to his room and shut the door, all but collapsing to the floor. There was no word to describe this but pure agony, his body turned against him as he felt as if he were going to cough up his insides.

And then, with a desperate gasping for air and losing battle with his gag reflex, the pain subsided. Simmons sat on the ground with his back against the wall, breathing heavily as he stared in absolute _horror_ at the tiny bits of petals in his hands that he’d just coughed up.

He’d heard stories about people who coughed up flowers. It wasn’t common, but it did happen- Simmons just hadn’t ever expected it to happen to _himself_.

He tried to remember what else he’d heard about it, and nearly started gagging again when he recalled that the most common cause of the disease was none other than unrequited love. _‘What the fuck I don’t… I don’t love him, I just-_ ” As much as Simmons tried to reason with himself, he couldn’t make himself believe any of the excuses.

If he remembered correctly the coughing and hacking up petals would only grow worse as time went on, with the vines growing inside him slowly growing like weeds until either they eventually overtook his heart and lungs and killed him or Simmons found a doctor in the middle of outer fucking space who could perform an extremely experimental surgery that, along with removing the deadly plant, would also remove any romantic feelings from the patient.

Neither option was preferable.

And the third option- the other person falls in love with you and you get better naturally- happened so rarely he didn’t even let himself dream of believing it was more than just a myth.

He knew he should tell someone- eight cases out of ten ended in death if the surgery was not performed soon, but who was he going to tell, Grif? Simmons could imagine how that conversation would go down. _“Hey, by the way I’m in love with you and now I’ve got flowers growing inside me and I’m going to fucking die now._ ” He let out a bitter laugh, knowing there was no way in hell he’d do that.

He could always go tell Sarge, but that was a no-go as well. Simmons couldn’t even imagine what sort of reaction he’d get if he went to talk to Sarge about _feelings_ , let alone ones of the romantic sort.

If he was desperate enough he could always go try talking with the Blues, though they were Red Team’s number one enemy and hadn’t really done much but shoot at them.

So he stayed quiet, hoping somehow everything would just sort itself out on it’s own, and that somehow no one will notice the flowers.

And no one did- until the arrival of the new member of Red Team showed up, about three months or so after Grif and Simmons had transferred to Blood Gulch.

Franklin Delano Donut was, for lack of a better phrase, not what Simmons had come to expect in a soldier. Sure he was strong, which he supposed was important, and had one hell of a throwing arm, but he was also… a lot more observant and likely to notice tiny details in things than most of the people he’d encountered as a space marine. _Much_ more so than Sarge or Grif at least.

It had only been a few hours since Donut had arrived when Simmons heard him knock on the door, a concerned look on his face as he stood there in the doorway. Simmons sat up on the bed, looking around for any telltale traces of marigolds he may have forgotten to throw out. “Shouldn’t you be outside? I thought you were supposed to be out watching in case the Blues attack.” They’d decided to put Donut on watch patrol to mess with the new guy, knowing there was a miniscule chance of any actual action happening. Simmons winced as he spoke, throat aching.

Donut ignored the question, electing to instead sit on the bed next to Simmons, who groaned inwardly as Donut picked up a petal he’d missed earlier. “You really ought to go see a doctor for that.”

“For what?”

Donut’s green eyes were piercing as he turned to look at Simmons. “I think we both know what.” He turned his gaze back to the petal around in his hand, gently turning it around with his fingers. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of you know. Most people have at least heard of someone who’s had it, if they haven’t experienced it themselves.”

Simmons shrugged. “Who said I was ashamed? I just… didn’t see any point of telling anyone else, and besides, it’s not like there are many doctors nearby, regardless of if I wanted one.”

“Well you can’t keep quiet about it. You’re _dying_ Simmons that’s not the kind of thing you keep shut tight- you have to tell _someone_.”

“Donut, you’re new here so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but who the fuck would I even tell?”

“Well, you do seem to be on fairly good terms with Grif, you could-”

Simmons wasn’t sure if he was laughing or flustered panicking- though he felt either would have been an appropriate response. “What d’you- wha- _no I can’t just go tell Grif!_ He’ll just laugh, or not take it seriously, or-” He threw his hands in the air, exasperated. “Donut there are a million reasons I’m not going to tell you but Grif is the _last_ person I need to talk to right now.”

Donut nodded, annoyingly perceptive. “What about Sarge?”

“You’re saying I should go to Sarge, the man who’s so delusional he goes by his rank, and tell him I’m dying because I’m in love with someone and so now I’m growing flowers inside of me because he doesn’t love me back.” Simmons deadpanned. “Yeah I’m sure _that’ll_ go really well.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure he’s not _that_ bad. You just have to go give it to him straight, don’t let him off until you know he’s all in, and then tell him like it is!”

Simmons was quiet for a moment, and then he stood, grabbing the petal from Donut’s hand. “I’m not even going to pretend I understand what you’re trying to say, but just- look, I know it’s not ideal, I’m just... don’t tell anyone?”

He wasn’t even looking back as he moved to drop the flower in the trash but he could feel Donut’s pitying stare on his back all the same. If anything was said in response Simmons missed it as he walked out of the room.

A week passed, and things just kept progressing from bad to worse. The mere thought of Grif would spark something that could sent Simmons into a fit of coughing. He found himself avoiding him more often, trying to survive this miserable existence.

The flowers were getting worse too- at first it had been petals, and that had been bad enough. The other night, however, he’d thrown up an entire bloody marigold.

He hated everything about that flower.

_‘If I live through this I never want to see another marigold again…'_ Or any orange flower, really. He was beginning to dread spring, and the blossoms that accompanied it. Did Blood Gulch even have spring? Simmons couldn’t recall seeing many trees around.

Simmons found himself coming up with excuses to avoid as many meetings as he could, instead spending the hours fighting to breathe, move, _anything_ , as the toxic flowers forced their way through his throat. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hide the intense bursts of coughing from the others- he wasn’t sure exactly but there was more than a slight chance at the very least Lopez had begun to catch on.

Donut was still concerned, but thankfully he wasn’t the type to go back on his word to not tell anyone. No, instead he just confronted Simmons and kept bringing up conversation topics that just so happened to have the perfect opportunity to talk about how they were all feeling. That, and he kept threatening to go talk to the Blues if Simmons didn’t at least call a medic sometime soon.

The truth was, Simmons had all but given up on getting help. Grif was never going to love him back and, to tell the truth, he really did not want to have a surgery that would make him stop loving him.

Fate sure is cruel, isn’t she. This was a very literal definition of the word lovesick.

_Fuck her._

_Fuck everyone._

Maybe a quiet drive around the Red Team half of the gulch would do him some good. Simmons walked to the garage and, ignoring the questioning look from Lopez and the ominous feeling of dread looking over him, drove off.

Yes, this would be good for him. Get his mind off things- off _Grif_.

He can hear Lopez ask something in Spanish as he drives away. He doesn’t answer.

* * *

“Simmons? You in there?” Grif knocked again, waiting a few moments before turning the knob when he failed to hear any response other than silence. “We’re supposed to be at a meeting or some bullshit thing Sarge has planned and I’m gonna ditch and was wondering if you had the spare key for the-”

For a moment Grif just stood in the doorway and frowned at the messier-than-usual room before him, noting a pile of something orange that had been left scattered on the floor near Simmons’ desk. He entered, picking up a few things from the floor to ease his mind that this was, indeed, Simmons’ room and that he hadn’t entered his own by accident. It wasn’t like Simmons to leave his room like this. He was normally much more particular about keeping his living quarters clean. _‘Wonder what’s up with him,_ ’ Grif wondered. _‘Now that I think about it he’s been acting a little...off lately…'_

He grabbed the spare key from it’s spot in the desk drawer and was about to leave when he remembered the other mess on the floor. It wouldn’t have been too out of the ordinary, for Simmons to have something of Grif’s in his room- they’d known each other longer than anyone else here, after all. Sometimes they shared things.

But not this thing.

Grif stared as he picked up a maroon petal from the floor- because there were no flowers in Blood Gulch. Not this kind anyway.

He noticed a few others scattered around the room, always in corners and out-of-the-way places. Like Simmons had tried to hide them. But why?

It was hard to tell since most of the flowers were already a slight maroon color (marigolds? Grif wasn’t sure) but he could see a few that were flecked with the crimson of dried blood. _‘The fuck is Simmons doing with-’_ He noticed others almost appeared to be painted with the stuff. _‘Holy shit.’_

As memories rushed back Grif wasn’t surprised Simmons had tried to hide it- he’d had to watch Kai go through this a few years before he’d gone into the military, and it was… it wasn’t pretty. He remembered watching his lovesick sister lying on the couch, holding a bowl full of plumerias she’d just thrown up and wishing they’d somehow be able to get enough for the surgery. Kai had been fortunate enough to have her love reciprocated, and the disease had left on it’s own, but that was rare- very much so. Grif cursed himself for not recognizing the symptoms sooner, wondering just how long Simmons had dealt with this alone.

“Simmons?” The presence of whole flowers was the thing that worried him most- those didn’t appear until later. _Much_ later.

He grabbed a fistful of flowers and left the room, almost running right into Donut as he entered the hall. “Do you-”

Grif interrupted, “Donut where’s Simmons?”

“I was about to ask you.”

“...Fuck.”

Donut noticed the broken petals in Grif’s hand. “...I suppose I don’t need to tell you anymore. Since… you know.”

“You _knew_ about this?”

“Simmons told me not to tell anyone!”

Grif was silent for a moment. “That doesn’t mean you _listen_ to him like a fucking dumbass, this isn’t a common cold we’re dealing with.”

Donut shrugged, “Well, to be fair I did try and schedule extra team meetings- and I tried to add in a part where we go around and talk about how we’re all doing. It… was not a very popular idea.”

Grif rolled his eyes. “That, Donut, is the understatement of the century.” At least now he knew it wasn’t just one of the many weird quirks Donut had. “Maybe next time try going behind his back and telling someone instead of letting your fucking teammate die because _he’s growing a goddamn flower garden inside himself._ ”

“Any idea where he could have gone?” Donut asked. “You do would know better than I would.”

“Well we know he’s not in his room,” Grif mused. He started walking away in the direction Donut had just come. “And as much as I hate this, Sarge is probably the one who’d know where the kissass is. I mean, he’s always going on and on about how we should listen to him and all that bullshit.”

They found Sarge in the garage in the middle of an argument of sorts with Lopez- though it was more just Sarge making up responses for the robot while Lopez rolled his eyes.

“Hey Sarge!” Donut greeted as the two entered the garage. “Have you seen Simmons?”

Sarge gestured towards the vacant spot that was usually filled by the other warthog.

“Let’s just hope we’re not too late.” Grif muttered as they drove off.

* * *

The warthog hummed and rattled as Simmons drove along the gulch- there was never any real need to patrol, especially since they had a good view of the enemy base without even needing to leave the Red base. But he had always found driving comforting, and even before becoming a soldier he would go for a drive whenever he was stressed. It was... calming.

He’d had a particularly bad day- Simmons could feel the vines inside him, twisting and piercing with their tiny thorns, grabbing hold of him from the inside. His chest ached with every breath, every movement pure agony.

None of this was new, of course. He’d been coughing up these fucking flowers for a couple months now.

The red haze surrounding his vision though- _that_ was new.

Simmons fumbled with the controls, trying to clear his head while also resisting the gag reflex as the hanahaki forced its way through his throat. He would have screamed aloud if he’d been able to get the necessary amount of oxygen to his lungs.

He knew he was losing control- losing control, and quickly nearing something he would inevitably crash into. His throat ached and he eventually gave in, coughing up a mess of blood and petals.

They just _didn’t stop_. It felt like he was drowning, except he was on land and about as far from any body of water as a person could get this side of the universe. Simmons was drowning in love and petals, simple as that.

He collapsed in the seat, allowing his hand to fall limp by his side. Any intake of breath felt impossible, and the lightheaded dizziness threatened to give way to unconsciousness. He didn’t notice the large boulder, when he finally did run into something. Nor did he notice the vehicle roll upon impact, flipping into a nearby ditch in a mess of metal and smoke.

In that moment all Simmons knew was the pain of suffocation via marigold. And of regret that if he died today, Simmons would never be able to tell Grif how he felt. The fact he’d actually made plans to tell Grif later that day was only worse.

_‘Is this how I die?’_

* * *

The smoke hadn’t yet fully cleared when Donut and Grif arrived in the other warthog. Grif ran to the crash, pushing away bits of broken metal and flowers. The glass on the front had all but shattered, and Grif made short work of it with a quick kick of his foot.

“Simmons! Listen we’re here- I-” It was hard to see Simmons amidst the wreckage, but from what Grif could see it wasn’t good. One might say this was the opposite of that. Grif turned to Donut, motioning to the broken vehicle. “Help me get this off!”

Donut nodded. “Right.” Together they lifted the warthog, careful to move it in a way that would avoid further injuring Simmons. The sharp intake of breath from Donut was all that needed to be said when they were able to get enough debris off of Simmons. Thankfully the maroon soldier was unconscious, but all the same- Simmons was in really bad shape.

Grif gingerly retrieved Simmons’ unconscious body from the wrecked warthog, carrying him back to the other, laying him on the passenger seat. Donut sat in the back while Grif drove them back to base. _‘Just hang on,’_ he thought. ‘ _we’ll get you help soon. Just… just hang on.’_

* * *

Simmons woke in a hospital room. It was empty- save for Grif, who sat on the guest couch at the opposite side. He looked tired, almost as exhausted as Simmons felt. ‘ _What is...w’happened?’_ Simmons wondered. _‘Shouldn’t I be dead?’_

There were only bits and pieces of the crash in his memory, though he did recall waking up for a few moments in the warthog, only to fall back into unconsciousness.

It was now Simmons noticed the pain- or, more accurately, the lack thereof. He’d lived with the pain for so long, it was almost strange to not feel anything. He was breathing, and it didn’t hurt. Yes, there was still an ache, but that was more or less to be expected after such a major accident.

“You really should’ve told someone, dumbass.” Grif’s tone was scolding but soft, and his eyes betrayed his worry. “I mean, you’re alive, but…” He sighed, cursing under his breath. “Was the cost really worth it?”

“The- the cost?” Simmons repeated. Grif came over to sit on the chair by the hospital bed and handed him a mirror- which Simmons almost dropped when he reached out to grab it and saw his hand. Or, rather, the metal prosthetic that had replaced the organic matter in his arm. And it wasn’t just his arm. Though bandages covered much of his face, Simmons could tell the entire side of his face, as well as a leg from just above the knee were also encased in metal. Bandages covered much of his chest as well.

Simmons looked at the new limbs in a mix of horror and awe. “What the _fuck_ happened?”

“Well for starters, you got pretty fucking close to the point of no return with those flowers. You’re lucky Donut decided to go back on his promise not to tell anyone when he did.” Grif laughed, “We actually got a pretty good scolding from the doctors about that you know. They...they weren’t even sure if you'd make it, even after they’d done everything they could. Guess there’s always the off chance the prosthetics and metal will reject your body, and with so much of you needing them to do the regular, y’know staying alive things…” He trailed off, suddenly very interested in the floor.

“Yeah, I guess I fucked things up pretty bad didn’t I.” Simmons gestured at himself. “There really isn’t much I can do to reverse any of this.”

Grif sighs, then shakes his head. “Doesn’t seem like it, no. Not unless you have a time machine of some sort.”

“And I take it you know now? About the…” Though it was inevitable, Simmons felt his heart sink a little when Grif nodded. “Donut told me the whole story while we were waiting to hear the news from the doctors.” The two sat in silence for a moment before he continued. “Y’know I feel like an asshole for not noticing anything sooner. My sister actually had this same thing a while back, and let me tell you it wasn’t super great to watch her, lying on the couch after I came home from work every day and hoping we’d be able to find enough money to get her the operation. I can’t imagine how it feels to actually get it… probably could have saved you from having to deal with all this bullshit if I’d noticed something was off.” He gestured to all the medical equipment and Simmons’ new shiny cybernetics.

Simmons shrugged, “It’s not your fault I couldn’t make myself fall out of love.” He stopped himself right before he could tell Grif to stop being so goddamn beautiful, but still ended up in a sort-of-blushing state. _Thank God for the excuse of being in the hospital after a major surgery…_

“Who said anything about falling out of love? Please, never do that it’s an absolutely terrible idea.”

“Well, I-” Simmons stammered, then, “Wait what?”

Grif was grinning, “Well I think we both know how this hanahaki thing works. Either you die or you get the surgery to get it removed, or….”

“I know how this works Grif, what are you saying? Obviously I didn’t die, and-” He paused, suddenly very aware of the fact he still felt something. For Grif. “ _\- Oh. Oh my god._ ”

“It’s not nearly as melodramatic as dying or losing your ability to love forever, but hey,” Grif leaned over to kiss Simmons’ forehead. “I’ll take this over losing the man I took way too long to fall for.”

Too dumbstruck to do anything, Simmons just sat there, “I thought that was just a myth.” He looked at his hands, comparing the soft flesh on one to the hard metallic surface of the other. “And if I didn’t… what happened here then?”

“Dude. You crashed pretty badly, not to mention rolled who knows how many times until you stopped and we found you with a fucking wheel on your arm. I’d say it’s a goddamn miracle you survived all that, let alone doing it while fighting off the invading flowers inside you.” Grif made a fist and punched Simmons’ arm softly. “Thanks for hanging in there.”

Simmons just smiled, looking at Grif. Everything was clearer with this new eye, his vision more crisp. Clearer. “What?” Grif grabbed the mirror he’d handed Simmons earlier, holding it up. “Did Donut put makeup on me while I slept again?”

Simmons shook his head, laughing. “No, I just never noticed your eyes… there’s a bit of gold in them.” He leaned over to rest his head on Grif’s shoulder. “They’re very pretty.”

“You’re pretty good-looking yourself, Simms.” He could feel the vibrations in Grif’s chest when he spoke. It was… comforting. “Can I call you Simms?”

Smiling softly, Simmons nodded. “Call me whatever you like.” He could feel himself grow tired, but for once he felt calm. Calm- and safe. It was nice.

**Author's Note:**

> I went with marigolds more for color-matching reasons and less of thinking about the meanings, but I think there may be some that fit as well.
> 
> If you want to find me off Ao3 I'm:  
> \- Magicalbluelightning on tumblr  
> \- AnastenLights on instagram and twitter


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